Cut threads
by Oh Hi
Summary: Ron does drugs. Hermione cuts herself. When they meet in rehab, will their friendship crash and burn or turn into something more? Beware! Descriptive cutting. not as dark as it may first seem. Completely human. They are about 17.
1. Bad thoughts

Her POV

I pressed the sharp point of the razor into my wrist. I barely acknowledged the burning as I dragged it over my veins. Though I ignored the burn, relief and an almost giddy feeling swept through me. I vaguely noticed the sticky red liquid spilling over the older scars that littered my forearm.

I waited for the ripping, searing, terrible pain I normally felt. There was none - the pain was dull.

I frowned; This isn't how it was supposed to happen. I would cut myself and feel the pain and smile with tears streaming down my face. This is not what I wanted to happen; I wanted the pain.

I picked up the bloody razor blade and wiped it on my darkwash skinnies. My fingers fumbled and I nearly sliced off my fingertips as I dropped the blade. Part of my brain flashed _STOPSTOPSTOP._ I laughed shakily in the small bathroom.

I forced a grin onto my ghostly features and braced myself. With the ferocity of a lion, I slashed at my wrist again. More blood coated my arm. The pain? None. The giddy feeling was getting fainter, too.

This time I jammed the razor on an unmarked part of my wrist. I flinched at the sharp agony. I smiled, basking in the pain, when I suddenly heard dripping. I looked down and gasped. I saw blood coursing down my arm like rivers and pooling together on the floor.

My jaw unhinged.

I started screaming.

* * *

><p>His POV<p>

"Ron?" I snapped out of my thoughts and into reality, a dark alley behind a grocery story in New York.

"Money?" The ragged man asked. I nodded wordlessly and put the stacks of hundreds on the table. He flipped through them quickly, counting. Seemingly satisfied, he put them into one of his many coat pockets. With a gloved hand, he slid a baggie across to me. I grabbed it and left.

I made it out on to the street and groaned. I had brought a thousand dollars for the baggie, but I didn't have enough for cab fare. I needed something to clear my head. _I have just the thing_, I thought, smiling.

I'd have to find a place to do it, though. I looked around and sure enough, there was an old apartment building half a block down. I crossed the street and walked over. Something blue and red flashed in the corner of my eye. Nah, Can't be. But I still couldn't shake the chills that erupted on my muscular arms. I muttered something about not being a coward and kept walking.

I opened the rusty doors and peered inside. Good, it was empty. I slid onto the bottom step and poured out the contents of the baggie. I took out an ace of spades and a chewed up straw from good ol' Mickey D's. I made lines with the card and was unflattening the straw when I heard sirens wailing.

A megaphone blared from outside. I tuned it out as a much more important sound came from right behind the doors.

The cocking of a gun.

I stumbled to my feet, scooping up as much of the coke as i could into my hands. I ran up the stairs while bringing the powder filled hand up to my nose. I sniffed it but it wasn't working. I wiped my hands on my pants as the megaphone screamed the words I knew were inevitable.

"We're coming in!"

I focused on running up the stairs. I had one hope: To go to the roof and jump off like James Bond. Maybe I _was_ high.

I got to the door, and the officers were only a staircase below me. I tried the knob, found it open, and burst out onto the roof. I started running like a maniac to the edge. The cops had reached the roof, and were shouting threats, pleads, sympathies and I think one person was even crying.

They were trying to get me away from the edge. I took a deep breath and thought _I am invincible. _Over the side I went.

I hit something and rolled off onto the cement a couple feet down. I looked up, the awning that had saved my life stood dented above me.

Maybe I am invincible.


	2. Not Hermione's choice

Her POV

Bright. So bright. That's the only thought I could process through the traffic jam inside my head. I could feel every part of my body, and yet, I was afraid to move. It felt like hours before I twitched my fingers. Immediate pressure was applied as I felt someone squeeze my hand. The squeeze set off a throbbing in my wrist. The throb set a rhythm to my thoughts. I opened my eyes. Was this heaven? Everything above me was deathly white.

Throb.

I quickly catalogued my surroundings. White walls with horrible white curtains.

Throb throb.

White sheets on a plastic white bed frame. A white clothed nurse in the corner looking anxiously at me. A hospital.

Throb throb.

I struggled to push myself into a sitting position. The nurse rushed over to help me. Embarrassed that I even needed help, I looked at my hands. That was a bad idea. Thick clean bandages covered my left wrist.

Oh. That's why I was in the hospital. I looked at the nurse and tried to ask for information with my eyes. She either didn't understand my look or ignored it.

My dad looked at me and got it. "You've been out for two days," he said. "I, er, _found__you_ _,_in the bathroom. You were...," he paused, unsure how to continue.

"Unconscious."

My breathing stopped. "Oh."

My voice cracked. The nurse cut in, sensing my distress. "We'll run a few tests, but you should be out of here by tonight." I sighed; tonight couldn't come fast enough.

Though, as it turns out, it did. I tried watching boring reruns of Charlie Rose. As you can guess,I quickly fell asleep.

When I woke up, it was around five. My nurse walked in and gave me dinner. Meat loaf and green-beans. Or, as I liked to call them, shitloaf and mean-beans. When I pointed this out to my nurse, she scowled and left. I sighed.

I ate my mean-beans in silence; I had tried TV and Charlie Rose was still droning on about the national debt.

A while later, the nurse came back in with my dad, saying I was free to go. I nodded glumly, Now I'd have to go back to school. Then I perked up, no more shitloaf and mean-beans!

The ride home from the hospital was well... Awkward. It was mostly quiet, but when my dad tried for conversation, it crashed and burned.

"So, erm, how is school going?" Another valiant attempt at getting me to talk.

Too bad I was not in the mood.

"School's fine."

"What about your friends?"

I didn't respond.

He tried another topic.

"I talked to Suzie," Great, advice from the stepmom.

'"And she and I agreed that maybe you should get help."

I froze.

"Like what?"

He took a minute's pause and then said firmly,

"Hermione, we want you to go to rehab."

**A/N: Thanks so much to my epic beta! I was being a boob and forgot to talk about her awesomeness last chapter. Oh well, at least she gets this chapter's gush fest! Thanks again prettykitty473! Flood her with beta requests!**

**Also I noticed over 100 people read my story and yet, only 3 commented! Thanks oodles to those people and sophie (smirk) but I survive on reviews! **

'**Till ron's pov! -Julia**


	3. Ron's dark secret

His POV

I blinked.

"Uuuunngh."

I sat up and scanned the room. Boring and white. A hospital. I looked down

to check for injuries. I had a broken arm, lots of bruises and when I

felt my head, it was covered in bandages.

Not bad for falling, er, jumping off a building.

I looked at the chair that I had previously thought was covered in blankets. I was half-right. A head peeked out of the mountain of blankets. I had a theory: Maybe I had my memories replaced and this man was actually my secret lover.

I pulled back the blankets slowly and saw a badge. NYPD. Poor guy, bet

he isn't even being paid overtime.

I grabbed the garment bag on the chair next to him. Inside was a spare

uniform, fresh from the dry cleaners. I put on the pants and cuffed

them. With the shirt un-tucked and halfway unbuttoned. I looked

pretty good.

The cop was still sleeping. I walked out of the room, not too quietly. So

much for quality law-enforcement.

I wandered around the city for a while before I realized that I should

go home. I didn't have any money so I did what I had to do to a

tourist with an unzipped purse.

Nice wallet, it was leather. I could probably sell it for something later.

The subway ride home was pretty uneventful. But, it seems every single

passenger jostled my broken arm. I was pretty irritated by the time

my stop rolled around.

Even though the subway saved me a long walk, it was still another

half-an-hour from the stop until I got home. "Home" was a dingy

apartment building; too similar to the one I was at last night for my

taste.

I used my key to get into the building, and walked up the three flights to

my home sweet home. I let my self in. Within seconds the smell of

fermented beer and moldy Thai food hit my nose. The TV was on full

volume and the fat lump on the couch in front of it was snoring. At

least it was better than my "father" being awake.

Ever since mom-

never mind.

I walked into my room and the smell followed me. I was doodling idly

when I heard grunting.

Damn.

I had hoped he would choke on his drool. I counted down silently. Three, two,

"BOY!"

he bellowed from the living room. Right on time.

I pulled myself up and out of my room."What?"

I had never been the best at words.

Neither was he; his hand whipped out faster than I could see, and slapped me.

I cringed, this is what I had been hoping to avoid.

"Where were you last night?" he thundered.

I was about to come up with an excuse when his eyes bulged.

"I couldn't sleep." I lied feebly, trying to keep him from doing what he was about to do.

It didn't work. He raised his broken beer bottle and beat me into the

deep sleep I thought I had wanted.

Thanks to my super mega awesome foxy hot (Avpm ftw!) beta! You make my day

when you comment oh, so nicely. She didn't read my last thank you

because I put it on after she sent it back so, now: THANKS!

And thanks again to my few reviewers, whom (Is that right?) without, I would not be sitting here typing.


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